


fur coats and bundled feelings

by sakon



Category: Lucha Underground
Genre: M/M, Set After Ultima Lucha Dos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:01:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24094750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakon/pseuds/sakon
Summary: The Temple is getting raided, and for what he doesn't know, but he's latched onto Puma's hand and he's hauling ass before they could take his name.Johnny and Puma hide from the cops, Johnny has lots of suppressed feelings, and Puma is there and angry.
Relationships: John Morrison | Johnny Nitro/Ricochet | Prince Puma
Comments: 3
Kudos: 4





	fur coats and bundled feelings

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I am in no way affiliated with Lucha Underground. I don't own the characters, etc etc.  
> Disclaimer 2: I write for the characters, not the actual wrestlers. I write for the characters Johnny Mundo and Prince Puma, not the real people J//ohn H/ennigan and T//revor M/ann.
> 
> Unbeta'd. I'll edit later.

It comes when his hand is over a jar of haircare.

" _Boyle Heights Police_!" A voice cracks through the echoing silence and already he can hear the scrambling of boots and the rushed steps. 

He jumps at the noise.

Blue lights streak the dirt of concrete walls and the entrance of the locker room. There's a red cast, the scent of crisp uniforms and the white lights flashed across the locker room.

**" _Boyle Heights Police!"_**

The voice booms through the room again. Echoing off the walls are the scraping of boots against concrete, the steps getting closer— and it's time to go. There's no good to come from being asked questions in a place like this about a place like this, and whatever Dario ever did, or whatever they were after was none of his concern.

And it seemed that everyone else thought the same. The locker room isn't exactly empty, but they're scattered to a point where he can't feel the body heat of people scrambling and he can't hear the luchadores saying Spanish gibberish. He isn't sure where Jack and PJ are, but he doesn't care. 

More scuffles echo, and he looks his locker. It's chalked full of hair care and an assortment of things for his beauty. He already had the skill to beat the rest, what did he need a mask to cover his greatness for? Johnny needed no gaudy getups and flashy to empower him and prove he was better; his face was already perfect and he was better.

But even if they weren't as good, they clearly didn't give their faces much care, which meant the rest of them didn't have as much to carry out. They'd stuff the doors if he didn't hurry.

He did a double take at his locker. It wasn't like he could take all of this stuff in an instant. A lot of the stuff he didn't need either.

A hand tightened around the fur coat in his other hand as he shoves the skincare jar back into the locker. He can't take it all, and he's sure everyone else can't either. 

Everyone else. Puma. 

Curious eyes flicker towards the locker. The spaces were empty, gray glaring black with mere photos and his mock up for Cuerno, but nothing more. It's almost saddening. Almost.

Johnny looks to the previous champion, watching hands folding over something thin and staring at it. It could be a photo, but he isn't sure. He catches the previous champion pocketing whatever it is, and he feels his hand twitch out towards him.

Puma's head tilts when he hears another scuffling noise, loud yells and then, an echoing silence. His brows drawn together as he listens to the noise, lips pressed thin. Johnny's inclined to let him explore that curiosity, except the Temple is filthy and tainted, police are there, and it's not a good idea for him to stay here. 

Would it even be a good idea to help him? 

It isn't, and it never would be. Johnny owes him nothing, nothing at all, yet his fingers snatch at a hoodie and his legs are moving before he realizes it.

The Temple is getting raided, and for what he doesn't know, but he's latched onto Puma's hand and he's hauling ass before they could take his name. He knows not to mess with the police there, even if he isn't involved. It's none of his business. It isn't a good idea, but it's the quickest he has.

They pass Cueto's office, the dark halls with dim swinging lights and filth that's been there for decades— all is blurry and hazy.

His chest hammers against his chest, blood rushing as his hand clasps tighter against a once familiar hand when they round a corner, barrelling down another flight of stairs, beyond another few doors and deeper beyond that.

Puma keeps his hand and drags him somewhere.

* * *

They end up somewhere in the Temple, but he isn't sure where. It's dark and cold, and he's gone through at least a dozen hallways and stairs to get there. He didn't know the Temple was this big; his only destinations were the locker room, Cueto's office, and the gym.

If he didn't know where they were, the police wouldn't as well.

It's been forever since they've been alone with just the two of them. It's been even longer outside the thing. He's a little hot, chest heaving from the surprise run, and when he flexes his fingers he can feel a palm against his own. Right. They're still holding hands. 

Johnny yanks his hand away at the realization, backing up, and when he does he feels a hand yank his arm and plant him back to where he was. It's warm, and he feels like a child for noting how nice it is. That quickly fades when he stares down into the accusing eyes, and notes the distrust in them.

Puma presses a flat palm into his chest, shaking with restraint. 

"Why did you do that?" The flat palm turns into a finger pressed between his pecs. He obviously doesn't trust him, but isn't like he's expecting different.

"You got us here, why did you?" He swipes the hand away with more push than he intends, and the hand goes back against Puma's chest. He half expects him to stumble against the weight.

Puma doesn't stumble. He relaxes his hands to his sides and flexes his fingers while Johnny can feel his fists bundle on instinct.

"But after all that you chose to help me?" Puma raises a brow and steps back. His brows furrow incredulously.

Johnny swallows at the reply, words stuck in his throat.

" _Really_?"

Puma isn't a man of many words, but he expects him to say more than that. Maybe even ask why, but nothing. All is silent for a moment, and a second passes by before another does. Before a third passes, Puma turns around.

Johnny scoffs. His eyes follow Puma's back, face turned away from him as it disappears into the black of the room.

Puma has no time to waste on him. The thought makes him angrier than it should, but he still loosens his tensed hands and watches him with dim eyes. 

He's already adapted to the cold, which he found odd. Weren't pumas supposed to hate the cold?

Puma sits with his elbows are on his knees and he's loosely bundled for warmth or protection. Johnny's fingers brush the wall as he takes a seat farther away; the cold is numbing to the touch. The walls and floors feel like concrete, a mere bulb hanging from the cieling illuminating the tiny space, and it isn't comfortable. Okay, yeah, the kid should definitely be suffering from the cold.

Puma stares at the ground, head between his knees. He might be thinking of Konnan, maybe, or what he did. Johnny isn't certain. He's suffering in a different way, though. It's the only thing he's certain about.

Johnny looks at him for a moment, eyes lingering far longer than he wants. It wouldn't be hard to just say two words, to say "I'm sorry," to rekindle their decent friendship and to relive it all. It wouldn't be hard to take a few steps and lay a hand on the kid's shoulder and give a listening ear. It'd be easy to say it, but not proving it. And after all he'd gotten after their friendship, it wouldn't be worth it. 

He grits his teeth at the thoughts. They're appealing, even if it belongs with the sympathy building in his stomach, one of the many feelings he knows he'll ignore and ultimately disregard — the thrum of his heart against his chest, the familiarity and electricity bouncing between the two of them — all of it never got him success.

The feelings shouldn't exist, yet they did. It isn't his place to extend a hand, yet he finds himself wanting to. 

Johnny goes back to staring.

His eyes are down turned, short lashes casting tiny shadows across his mask, the shadows of his mask contouring the parts of his visible face. Even through the mask he can tell he's exhausted. 

He watches him for a while. He goes from exhausted to sleepy. Puma's eyes eventually shut, his breathing becomes inaudible, and before he knows it, Puma's fallen asleep.

How the hell did that happen?

Johnny walks to the wall, footfalls near silent to not startle him. Sitting beside him, he waits for a reaction. Puma's eyes flash open at him after a second, though he suspects his body knew he was coming before the noise alerted him. Brown eyes flicker towards him for a moment, muscles flashing in tension as he looks at Johnny.

His chest freezes, and he extends his arm at a sluggish pace. The arm crawls around his shoulders, and Puma looks at him for a moment, probably deciphering his intentions before relaxing his muscles.

Johnny pushes the younger into his ribs, Puma's legs spreading across the floor. A hand clenches his arm defensively, a clear warning, and he's certain that Puma's one second from shoving him. He's tense again until he wraps the coat around his body.

That certainty fades quick as he feels the grip loosen around his forearm. He does nothing to push away from the touch and after a moment, he relaxes into the warmth. It drops to his side.

His eyebrows knit. Puma's confused and befuddled, but he isn't the only one.

He doesn't know whether he's doing it out of some untold lingering on the kid, or whether it's just him being a decent person. Either way, Puma's most definitely vulnerable, and he's stuck nursing his own bruises while looking after dead weight, though it's not like he has bruise ointment. And now he's keeping the dead weight warm out of some obligation. 

Puma's eyes close once more, and he's fallen asleep. Or at least trying to. He needs the sleep. So does Johnny.

He pulls the fur coat tighter around his body, feeling the fur brush against his fingers. It's warm, but not the warmth his fingers want. They want to drag across the tattoos, to feel old ink beneath his fingers and familiar skin under his touch, but Puma will wake if he does.

That doesn't stop him from pulling him deeper into the crook of his arm and staring down at the face. He's still stuck in his scrambled thoughts, with staring at Puma not making it much better or worse, but it feels nice to stare at him, even if it's his only chance.

He doesn't know if this will change the dynamics between them.

It's uncertain treading ground, terrifying, but the idea gets pushed into the back of his mind as his eyes close.

It's dangerous territory; he doesn't know the next chapter, and as he closes his eyes, the thought comes that he might be fine with that.

Johnny secretly agrees.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed,


End file.
